


I can be whatever I want to be

by Lexie



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Before Burt can even take off his coat, six-year-old Kurt has announced that he's going to be Cinderella for Halloween.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can be whatever I want to be

**Author's Note:**

> From [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/glee_angst_meme/3065.html?thread=5239033#t5239033) on the anonymeme; the [real-life blog post](http://nerdyapplebottom.com/2010/11/02/my-son-is-gay/) that this was based on is fabulous. Title from "[In My Own Little Corner](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0hmCnOPYxVQ)," from Rogers and Hammerstein's _Cinderella_.

Before Burt can even take off his coat, Kurt has announced that he's going to be Cinderella for Halloween.

"--Really?" Burt asks, caught just inside the door of the house. Sitting at the kitchen table, almost lost behind a pile of sixth-graders' essays, Melissa has apparently already heard about this plan and is making significant eyes at him.

"That's ... great," says Burt.

When Kurt is in bed hours later, Melissa explains that it's important they support Kurt and let him do what he wants. There's a lot more to it than that, but that's what Burt takes away from everything she says about child development and unconditional love.

Burt is all about supporting Kurt and loving him, but he knows this town and he doesn't want to think about what might get said to his kid if he dresses like a Disney princess for the kindergarten's Halloween party. And, yeah -- he's trying to get better with this, he really is, but it isn't easy. He'd never exactly considered the possibility of having a son who could expertly advise his mother on the right color of lipstick and would know (and be able to sing) every word to every Julie Andrews song. Burt doesn't love Kurt any less for it. It's just hard sometimes.

Melissa's always better with this stuff. She thinks it'll be okay; she really doesn't think anybody will say anything to a six-year-old in a costume. She knows Ms. Safroen from when they taught together, before Melissa transferred to the middle school, and she says she'll give her a call just to check in. If Melissa thinks it's going to be okay, Burt can go with that.

But he still brings _Mulan_ home from the video rental place one night. Mulan's sort of a Disney princess, right? One that dresses up like a guy.

Melissa shoots him looks over the top of Kurt's head; dangerous looks that say she knows exactly what he's trying to do, and he's going to regret it the second that they're alone. Kurt seems to like the movie. He watches attentively, and runs around humming the songs and mimicking the dance moves across the living room for a day or two. But he doesn't quit talking excitedly about Cinderella.

Burt knows when he has lost.

* * *

His son's wearing a froufy white dress and a glittery tiara in his hair. That's the first thing that registers.

The second thing is that, while Kurt has always been a weirdly grown-up kid, he's currently beaming like the six-year-old he really is. He looks crazy happy, and crazy proud, staring up at Burt and waiting for approval.

Burt says, a little dumbly: "I thought Cinderella's dress was blue."

Kurt laughs, like it's _obvious_. "I'm Julie Andrews Cinderella!" He's just growing out of the habit of turning his r's into w's; it still sounds a little like _Julie Andwews Cindewella_. He puts his arms up over his head and spins in place, skirts flying out around him. Melissa laughs and claps her hands, her face shining; Burt slowly smiles.

"Lookin' good," he says, and Kurt hauls him over to watch key scenes from the movie. Kurt matter-of-factly explains everything that's going on, and he and Melissa sing along with the half-familiar songs (Burt's not a musical guy and he usually leaves this stuff to the two of them, but they've apparently watched this tape enough that some of it has actually sunk into his brain), and Burt has still got no idea where his kid got that amazing voice. It definitely wasn't from him.

Watching Kurt twirl and smile again later, Burt thinks: _I can deal with this_ , and he means it, this time.

* * *

Burt grunts, looking up at the mess that Mrs. Morrison made of her undercarriage after she drove onto that curb. And what the hell is all this crap under here? What'd she do, run over a truck full of feather pillows while she was at it? Maybe a flock of geese. "Hey, kiddo," he says, sticking his hand out from under the car; "need a rag here."

There's silence.

"Kurt?" he asks.

He hears a sharp inhale, like he startled him, and then Kurt's voice questions, "Daddy?"

"Can I have a rag, please?" An oily rag is placed into his hand, without a single complaint about it coming near Kurt's pants. Burt frowns.

When he asks for a Philips head ten seconds later and nothing happens, his frown strengthens. Kurt will sometimes sit for an hour and just watch Burt tinker with an engine. He's normally attentive and interested, and he knows his screwdrivers better than any kid in Ohio. Burt wheels himself out from under Mrs. Morrison's Corsica.

Kurt has been picking his own clothes since he was two and a half and could point. He's the only kid Burt knows who would willingly choose to wear an oxford shirt and (clip-on) bowtie. Today's tie is dark purple. Kurt's fanatical when it comes to cleanliness and his clothes, but he's sitting cross-legged on the garage floor with his shoulders slumped. Burt's heart clenches in his chest.

"Hey," says Burt, sitting up on the board. "What's the matter?"

"Mulan got in trouble after she dressed like a boy," Kurt says. Sometimes, he is _way_ too perceptive for his age, and for his own good. His eyes look huge; his face is scrunched up. "Am I gonna get in trouble for dressing like a girl?"

That expression strikes Burt like a punch to the gut. He could hit himself for bringing that movie home. "You're not gonna get in trouble," he tells him. "It's a Halloween costume, Kurt; it's just for fun." Kurt nods slowly without glancing up. "And--" Burt is struggling to remember everything that Melissa has said about this, and then to translate it to kid language. In the end, he just says: "Your mom talked to Ms. Safroen; she said she's real excited to see your costume."

Kurt brightens a little; he brightens more after they go home and Melissa has a talk with him.

Melissa's just better at this stuff.

* * *

He was perfectly happy bounding around the house wearing the dress this morning, but the closer they came to the school, the quieter Kurt got. He's sitting up high in the passenger seat now, his small shoulders set stiffly and his bag clutched tight in his hands.

He's not moving.

Burt watches him for a long moment, and then he says, "Kurt. We're here." Outside, kids in all kinds of crazy costumes stream past the pickup truck; there are at least three Batmans, a cowboy, and a bumblebee in one group. Kurt glances over at him. Burt turns off the truck, gets out, and comes around the hood. He opens Kurt's door and leans in. "You ready?" he asks.

Kurt reaches up and adjusts his tiara, all too serious, and then he nods.

"You want me to walk you in?"

He nods more emphatically.

Burt reaches over and unbuckles his seat belt, then lets Kurt climb out of the truck and hop down off the running board. Kurt reaches up and slips his small hand into Burt's like it's the most natural thing in the world. He's got a pretty good grip for a little guy. Burt squeezes back as he shuts the truck door.

The first couple hundred feet go pretty good. Kurt sees a couple kids from his class and they wave; a girl dressed as a Jedi squeals and shouts something across the playground that Burt can't quite make out, but it's obviously positive and when he glances down at Kurt, he's smiling and looking pleased.

It's once they're inside the school when everything starts to get ugly.

Maureen Wilson and another woman Burt recognizes, maybe Mrs. Hartley or Mrs. Harley, descend on them in the hall. The second he sees Wilson's expression, Burt's got an idea of what's coming. His shoulders tighten up but there's no way to get around the two women; they're coming straight down the middle of the hall, from Kurt's classroom.

"Oh my goodness," says the mother whose name Burt can't remember. "Look at that _costume_!" All of the cheer in her voice is fake.

"Did he ask to wear -- that?" asks Maureen Wilson, like Kurt isn't standing _right there_.

"Yeah," Burt says gruffly. "He did. He's Cinderella from the TV movie; he made it with his mom."

"Didn't you try to talk him _out_ of it?" Wilson lowers her voice, as if Kurt's somehow not gonna hear that. Burt's free hand curls into a fist.

"No." He lets his voice sharpen; hopefully not enough to freak Kurt out, but enough to tell these harpies to back off. "That's no--"

"I couldn't _believe_ it when you two walked by," says a third voice; a woman, hurrying up to them from one of the classrooms they'd walked by. Burt doesn't even know who she is. "Kids can be so cruel; how could you let him out of the house like that?"

"Listen, lady," Burt snaps, completely losing his cool, "it's _Halloween_. I'm not worried your kid's gonna become a mutant ninja turtle, so keep y--"

"Mr. Hummel," says Kurt's teacher, Ms. Safroen, hurrying out of her classroom. Burt barely recognizes her; she's wearing a long blonde wig and a whole lot of pink. "Kurt!" She holds out a hand to Kurt, smiling. "You look fantastic!"

"You're Sleeping Beauty," Kurt says, and his worried expression fades into a tiny smile as he takes her hand and lets go of Burt's.

Sleeping Beauty, huh? Burt's estimation of Ms. Safroen just went up even higher.

"I am! Ladies, if you're finished dropping off your children, we're just about ready for school to start," says Ms. Safroen, polite and smiling but firm. "Mr. Hummel, can I have a word?" He nods. Wilson opens her mouth like she's going to squawk, but Ms. Safroen just turns her back on them all and leads Kurt down the hall. Burt shoots Mrs. Wilson and her two buddies one last pointed, furious look, then he follows the two princesses.

With a quiet word, Ms. Safroen shoos Kurt into the kindergarten classroom. Burt watches warily, but Kurt is swarmed by little girls the second he reaches his kid-sized table; he immediately beams and even lets a tiny zombie carefully touch his tiara.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Ms. Safroen tells Burt quietly, her arms folded as she watches her students from the doorway.

Watching Kurt laugh, Burt doesn't know if that'll be enough.

* * *

The second he gets a look at his son coming through the garage door, Burt knows that the rest of the day didn't go well. He's still wearing the dress and the tiara, nothing's grass- or ketchup-stained or missing, but he's drooping to the point where he's dragging that shoulder bag that he loves behind him by the strap.

He says, " 'Scuse me," to the customer he was talking to without even really looking at him; the guy says something but Burt just absently waves Joe over to finish ringing him up, and jogs over to the pair who have just come in.

Joe's 14-year-old, Hillary, is leading Kurt by the hand. Hillary's a good kid. She walks Kurt over on days when Melissa's coaching a soccer practice and Burt is buried in work at the garage. She looks distinctly uneasy. "Hey, Mr. Hummel," she says.

"Hey," he says, and he isn't sure whether he's asking her or Kurt when he asks: "What happened?"

Hillary pulls a helpless face. "Kurt doesn't wanna talk about it," she says.

Burt takes another look at his droopy kid and then he bends down, picks up Kurt's bag, and throws the strap over his shoulder. He takes Kurt's other hand. "Thanks, Hillary," he says, and without waiting for an answer, he walks with Kurt back toward the office. The customer is openly staring at Kurt even as Joe tries to get his attention before it's too late; Burt treats the guy to the ugliest glare he's got (and he has some seriously ugly ones; this one is particularly murderous). The customer's eyes widen faintly and then he glances back at Joe like, _Did he really just glare at me?_ It'll probably lose Burt the jerk's business, but he doesn't give a damn.

The office is the cleanest, quietest space in the garage, which isn't exactly saying a lot, but at least the drill sounds get muffled when he shuts the door. Burt grabs Kurt under the arms, picks him up, and sits him down on top of the desk. "Okay, pal," he says, leaning in and looking him in the eye. "What's goin' on?"

Kurt finally looks up. "Do we have to trick treat?" he asks.

"Why, you don't wanna?"

He falls silent, tracing a pattern in the surface of the desk with two small fingers.

"Kurt," Burt prompts.

"People didn't get my costume."

The first icy fingers of dread squeeze at Burt's heart. "Who didn't get it?" he asks, as evenly as he can.

"The moms," says Kurt, kicking his feet. He's wearing those clear jelly sandals that he'd spent the summer begging for. "A third grader said I was a fairy at recess; I _wasn't_ a fairy."

 _A third grader said I was a fairy_ , Kurt says, and Burt could put his fist through a wall.

"Fairies have _wings_ ," Kurt says, scornful and subdued at the same time. "I _told_ them I was Cinderella."

"They called you a fairy?" Burt asks, trying, with a Herculean effort, to sound steady. Strike putting his fist through a wall; he could put it through a third-grader. A _third-grader_. He had worried, sure, but he hadn't thought they'd _actually_ have to start dealing with any of this -- if Kurt doesn't grow out of liking the stuff he likes -- until, you know, high school. Maybe middle school. But the second month of kindergarten? The second month of kindergarten and some nine-year-old has already called his son a fairy?

Kurt nods. His scorn has faded into something much quieter. "Tony said boys aren't supposed to dress like girls. He said I'm weird."

"Tony a third-grader?"

He shakes his head.

Burt gets another idea; one that makes him narrow his eyes. "Tony _Wilson_ , from your class?" The tiara wobbles in Kurt's hair with the force of his nod.

Burt's not a violent guy, he's really not, but all he can see is red. Mrs. Wilson will be receiving one _hell_ of a phone call tonight. But for now -- there's a sad, uncertain six-year-old in a dress looking up him. "Don't worry about those kids. They were full of it. You can dress like whatever you want, okay? Your costume is _great_ ," Burt says fiercely. "I wish I'd thought of going as Cinderella."

Kurt shoots Burt a look that's dubious far beyond his years.

You can't put one over on this kid. Burt exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess that's more your thing than mine, huh? But you and your mom worked really hard on this." He takes a fistful of the dress's hem and waves it around a little. "You still like it?"

He considers the question for a long moment; Burt can almost hear the wheels turning in that little head. Then Kurt nods, very serious.

"Good," says Burt, low and intent, carefully enunciating every word. " 'Cause so do I. You get to be whatever makes you happy. Okay? Forget what anybody else says, Kurt. What do you want to be?"

"Cinderella," Kurt answers, immediate but soft.

"Okay," Burt says, as steadily and calmly as he can while he is internally planning just how many new ones he is going to go rip people as soon as he's got Kurt feeling better. "Then you're gonna be Cinderella."

Kurt's mouth wobbles, like he wants to cry but won't do it, and he reaches out. Burt sweeps him up into his arms. Kurt clings around his neck and hides his face in his shoulder, tiara pressing against the collar of Burt's coverall. Burt presses a firm kiss into his hair just below the tiara band, and he hugs him like if he does it fiercely enough, he can shield him from all the assholes in the world who are going to try to tear him down.

"It's okay," Burt tells him, even though it's anything but okay. Kurt's still young enough to believe it, if Burt makes it sound convincing. "It's okay, buddy." There are no sniffles, which he takes as a good sign. Kurt isn't much of a crier, which means that when he _does_ let tears loose, it means Houston, they have a huge problem. Maybe this is salvageable.

"Let's go show Joe your costume, huh?" Burt asks, bouncing Kurt a little bit on his hip. "He's gonna think it's great." (Or Burt will fire him.) "Come on. Teach me some of that one you liked. 'In my own little--' How'd it go?"

" _In my own little corner_ ," warbles the tiny high voice, muffled by his shoulder, as Burt opens the office door.

Burt clears his throat and tries to sing the line back, but it comes out as more of a creak. Kurt gives a couple breaths of a giggle, though, and that's worth a thousand crappily-sung lines of a Cinderella song.


End file.
